Shadow of the Queen
by Alga
Summary: Just how far can your hard work lead you? Meet our favorite princess-turned-queen, Nicholas, a fresh addition to the Royal bodygards Lionel and everybody else! Post-Princess Diaries 2. Based on the film.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: so not mine, but I wish…

**Author's note**: some Latin used for epigraphs, but I understand that not everybody knows Latin, so here's translation:

_pecus Magnae Parentis_ means _livestock of the Great Mother _(Mother Nature, or any similar type of ancient, pre-pantheon goddess that created the world or a huge part of it in Roman mythology, I guess), literally. However, it's not just any animal, not even a domestic one, but a lion.

_volatūs alĭtum sustinet _means _supports the feathered ones in flying_; originally the phrase started with a word _aēr_, which means _air_ – so it all basically means that the air helps birds to fly

**Shadow of the Queen**

_**Pecus Magnae Parentis**_

**Chapter 1**

_**Volatūs alĭtum sustinet**_

- The Sparrow changes route, coming through Passage B, rise security notch at Passage B. How do you read me, Lionel?

- Check, Shades. Security buildup at Passage B. Over.

Indeed, you want to get into the world – you learn the rules it lives by, you abide them and travel the roads it has to offer, preferably with all due respect to speed limits. That's what they taught him in the uni. When you are sitting on a high enough perch, you become one of those few who make rules and set speed limits for the world to abide. That's what the very same university professors said, in hushed whispers, when nobody unworthy of the trust was around. But whatever the side you're on, life is surely… interesting, taking quite unexpected turns – what with new laws and the former Queen, Her Majesty Clarisse, marrying her Royal Head of Security, Joseph, and him, Lionel Motaz, hopefully taking a full-time job here at the palace as soon as his university days were over and done with, hopefully with no complications, right after he hands in this internship papers and _not_ a year later, with some nice comments from present Royal Head of Security Shades and – who knows? – maybe even a word or two from the Queen herself on the side. Right, life is quite interesting to follow... That much he managed to observe on his own.

Yes, sure... Wait, did he say Passage… B?! Damn, that's all the way up from his present position! But he's the closest one to it anyway… He ran. Steps and staircases, left, right… More steps and stairs... Please, God, I know I hardly ever pray and never come to Your churches since I turned five, but please, if you really exist, keep _her _away from any harm…

- Lionel, that you? – She stopped abruptly; more like almost bumped into him when the guard was about to turn around the corner. Her Royal Highness, Princess – no, he had to correct himself, it's been a month now, since she has become – …

- My Queen.

- Oh, Lionel… - There was a soft reproach in her voice as Queen Amelia Migno… – no, Mia, remember, she doesn't like to be called otherwise – as Queen Mia smiled at him, still a bit startled. – Do you security guys always have to pop out of nowhere like that, all the time? It's creepy.

- I am sorry, Your Majesty. Part of the job. You've changed your route so abruptly I had to hurry in case somebody less than friendly caught up with you faster than I did.

She smiled again at him, this time almost apologetically.

- Right. Well, no assassins here… Thanks anyway, I guess…

They just stood in the gallery, in awkward silence, and stared at each other – the Queen of Genovia still clutching a spot of the fabric right above her heart, and the guard standing slightly to her left, just enough to block whatever might come from the side of the park, shielding Mia with his own body; light summer wind ruffled her dress and his hair.

- Mia! There you are. Ready to go?

Young Lord Devereaux. He was supposed to take the Queen out today for a… walk? A date? Whatever the occasion, it was clearly none of _his_ business, that much Shades, and Joseph before him, made quite clear. You guard, you shield, you protect, and stay the hell out of the Queen's way, unless her life or well-being is threatened. Period. Joseph especially stressed that, giving him a security crash course right before he left to enjoy his honeymoon with the former Queen. Sometimes Lionel could swear his muscles still hurt, and paranoia was practically his second nature – or was it just phantom pain of those lengthy work-out sessions multiplied by slowly, but steadily developing professionalism he strived to achieve so much? Maybe. Maybe not. And yet…

- Coming, Nicholas. Start the car!

She was still looking at him as she spoke. Not _through_ him. But then she broke the gaze and brushed past ever so lightly, to the man waiting for her. Ever so lightly…but he could still remember those clumsy moments fondly, though hey – probably even the queens so full of life, queens like Her Majesty Mia learn how to move _un_-awkwardly and almost mechanically in their royal grace as they turn professional… Lionel breathed in. Roses from the garden. The wind. Sunshine. Her perfume… Suddenly, he noticed a small something sending sparks up form the gallery floor.

- Wait! Your Majesty! You have dropped – …

But Lord Devereaux's convertible was already gone, and his Queen with it.

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Um, feedback? You know you want to. This nice little button down there…


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: see Chapter 1

**Author's note**: here comes more Latin:

_memento vivere _means _remember to live, remember about life_; broad interpretation

_immeritus mori_ means _not deserving death_, that is, _deserving immortality_

**Chapter 2**

**_Memento vivere_**

Some forty or so years later…

_I'm rich, I'm famous, and I have girls of all ages swooning as soon as I so much as glance in their direction. Gee, it feels good sometimes to walk in the crowd the old-fashioned way, unrecognized! _Of course it felt good to be just a nobody! Sometimes. When he was getting tired of the press & fans swarming him. When life made the star feel yet again just how alone he really were, what with all the world-touring and fame. And every guy in the band felt that – alone, empty. No wonder _the Beatles_ suffered like this too! At least, he suspected that they very much did. Wait, was it… right beside him, at the foot of the statue of – surprise! – himself, only half his present-time age… A young man amidst his fellow band members, gazing idol-style at the tourists and citizens of Genovia alike from his pedestal. Statues never grow old. A shiny plaque bolted to the side of the whole monstrosity read _IMMERITUS MORI_ in large eye-catching letters. Yeah, sure, he and the other guys were still alive! But this woman… No, it simply couldn't be…

- Mia? That really you?!

- Shh! I'm here incognito, O.K.? Don't you know what the reporters are like, Michael Moscovitz?

- Oh, sorry. – He dropped the volume almost instantly, and checked if anybody was listening in. Thank God, no. Apparently, this whole mass of picture-takers and pear-flavored ice-cream eaters in the square had better things to do than to eavesdrop on hellos of another one like them. He heaved a quiet sigh of relief and took a step closer to the lady. – What are you of all people doing here, I mean, _alone_?

Mia gave him an astonishingly youthful smile, and for a moment he believed their graduation day took place at Garden Grove High only a week ago, two weeks max. The Queen of Genovia relocated a fine bouquet she was holding into her left palm and outstretched her right for a friendly handshake. He gladly accepted.

- I'm just taking a break from being a widowed Queen Mother, Michael. This place helps me to relax – with so many people here, I'm invisible. – She squinted at him playfully through her tinted glasses and suddenly grew serious. – Plus, this monument… It helps me to think. Concentrate, if you will. I come here and gain strength to move on. To live another day, to be a proper ex-monarch and a good mother… – She paused, wistful; then quickly snapped back into conversation. Too quickly. – And you, my friend? What brings the legendary Mike of _Flypaper_ to Pyrus this time of the year?

One moment Mia was spacing out, and next she is all into small talk again. Inwardly, Michael almost frowned. It did not sit well with him. Mia that he remembered from way back was awkward sometimes, ridiculous on an occasion, a complete mess at Debates class… But she was more… open. This polite and well-dressed woman was not Mia. But she leads one hell of a busy life, who is he to blame her for the stressed-out feats… And she was waiting for an answer. He had to say something. Michael smiled at his former high school crush, motioning at the crowd.

- Like you said. I'm taking a break too. You know, just to sleep in, get up real late, saunter round the city… Have a bite in a cozy café… Then probably a week in the countryside… A bit of total peace and quiet… Musicians also need a break, Your Majesty. Once in a while.

Her smile got warmer at that, reached her beautiful grey eyes. _His_ Mia was back! She did not waste more time to make the official conversation flow any better. Instead, she stepped even closer and tugged him gently on the sleeve, nodding to a nearby snack parlor. They sat there at one of the small tables in the open air to gossip about friends, family, and life in general over a cup of something refreshing. Hours flew by as they enjoyed the prize-winning Genovian pear juice and talked…

- …And then I said, no way, what's the point, man? I'm packing my bags, and see you in autumn!

- Right you are! The others can survive without you for a month. But why Genovia, Michael? – She petted his backpack on the chair next to their table. – Complete with a brand-new camera full of the usual sightseeing crap non-professionals dare to call pictures, I suspect.

- Oh, well… You are not very nice, Mia. – He pulled a playful hurt expression. – Not everybody is as good at photography as that British friend of yours, what was his name… The one you almost married.

- Adrew Jacoby.

- Yeah, this one. Why Genovia? Simple: I've never been here. And before you say it, the World Tour doesn't count. Airport-hotel-stage-back to the airport spree… Does it look like a decent trip to you, Mia?

She shook her head.

- Exactly. I wanted to get to know your country, not its backstage and lodging industry. And… I wanted to dare and possibly, maybe, try and get to know _you_. Would you let me, Mia Thermopolis Renaldi? To get to know the new you, but it must be the person that you really are, not the official cover I can watch on TV.

- I… – She paled a bit, fingering her cup of pear juice with one hand and her father's locket on the chain round her royal neck with the other one. – I suppose, Michael Moscovitz. It's just so… unexpected. – She was looking him in the eye now, her bright and caring smile back again, and completely officialese-free. – I'd like to try. Come to think of it, I'd like to get to know _you_ too. The real you, not the guy whose monument is standing over there. We can start right now. How bout that?

Swell!

- Sounds good to me. No, I'll pay.

- Ever the gentleman, Michael… Let me place the flowers at the foot of your monument and I'll show you around the historical area of my capital.

He mock-groaned.

- If you feel like it. The flowers, I mean. Honestly, Mia, the thing doesn't even look like me.

- Well, you are old!

- Not that. The face. I remember what it was all those years ago when we toured round the world and came to Pyrus. I swear the sculptor used one of those tourist or fan low-quality snapshots from the airport to produce that thing. It is me, but not really me. You know what I mean?

- Oh, quite.

They walked up to the monument by now, and Mia placed her flowers down, gently. As the musician watched the ex-queen do that, he couldn't help wondering why her features had to soften for a split second while she was lowering the bouquet by the big-lettered plaque. Mia could only glance at the words before her. _You have no idea,_ _Michael __Moscovitz__, absolutely no idea…_

But she had. Oh, as if it were yesterday… _Flypaper _came in so conveniently, just as she planned… After all these years, it still seemed a bit…bizarre – to invite the band, Michael's band of all people, as they were on the road anyway, to give just one concert right where the monument was standing now – and all of it to get a perfectly legal chance to erect yet another tourist attraction with innocent and quite appropriate phrase in Latin to go with it, all because her best friend's twin brother happened to look a bit like the man of her life, and it most certainly was _not_ her beloved husband, the late king Nicholas, may he forever rest in peace.

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Feedback, please!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** see in chapter 1.

**Author's note:** _absit invidia verbo_ is a saying along the lines of _may I not be damned for what I've said_.

**Chapter 3**

**_Absit invidia verbo_**

Four p.m. Princess… no, the Queen, she is our Queen now, Lionel corrected himself for God knows what time, the Queen was stepping from lord Devereaux's convertible, swift and laughing in this special way that was awfully becoming – so youthful, so mirthful, so…Mia-ful. Lionel rushed to return her the thing she dropped and he tucked into his jacket inner pocket for safekeeping this morning, and to cover her from any possible danger even sooner than Shades informed him that the car's coming in, of course. _Shades_. Lionel grimaced briefly in the general direction of their head office as he half-ran, half-walked down the side passage to oversee Her Majesty's entrance. Though deep down in his mind he wished he'd be calling her Mia – just Mia, like that, without the Queen-prefix. Simple, and awfully unofficial… but Lionel had a hunch that she would appreciate that more than all her titles and names combined; if only he dared… if only she had a reason to let him dare, and Shades had too– Lionel huffed.

With all due respect, and knowing well his infinite loyalty to the Queen of Genovia, both past and present, the Royal Head of Security still tried his bullet-proof best to keep Lionel in the Palace whenever Queen Mia went for a walk, or to a public event of any kind in town. As if his boss didn't trust him with the royal safety! But probably the man somehow sensed that un-prefixed Mia wish and took measures, so to speak. Oh, well – the guy's been in security way before Lionel was born, probably started to lose it, that's professional disease – paranoia; Lionel felt the first glimpses of it in himself already, so what could be the boss like… it's creepy, as Her Majesty put it. He absolutely _has to_ prove Shades wrong, explain to him that there's nothing but true and eager bodyguard speaking when he voices another plea to accompany Mi… Queen Mia.

…Bodyguard in training halted behind the column at the window right next to front doors, side-glanced at on-duty colleagues scattered all over the palace-grounds territory outside, and looked, no, stared, at the young Queen and her well-groomed and casually but just as expansively dressed… acquaintance? Boyfriend? In truth, Lionel did not care. This guy might take her out all he wants, as long as his Queen returns safely home. God, she was stunning in that light summer dress!

He watched in trance, remembering to dart an occasional glance around every five seconds or so just in case as the young woman took a hold of lord Devereaux's hand and rose to her feet, outside the car, as she turned her head and smiled to Charlotte, standing at the bottom of the stairs with a telephone and her ever-present notepad, as she gave him – him! – a quick wink, walking through the doors and whispered under her breath something about snipers and assassins. He felt calm and evenly happy, taking the joke. Honestly, there is nothing but respect crossed with dutiful subject-kind adoration that he's feeling for her!

And then Lionel saw it, momentarily forgetting all about the thing he kept in his inner pocket with such reverence all day long and wished to return to Mi… Queen Mia. He looked again. No doubt. Small and elegant. A golden band on the ring finger of Her Majesty's left hand. A band that wasn't there in the morning. Mia followed his gaze, the smile going brighter.

- Oh. Guess it's impossible to hide anything from you securities. – She held out her hand, and the tiny diamond sparkled. Lionel moved forward to admire.

- Congratulations. – He wanted to go on, to say something warm and appropriate for the occasion, but stumbled on her impossibly grey eyes and forgot all the smooth crap they say in cases like that. She was so close, _too_ close! He felt drunk with her scent, with her face smiling radiantly – at him, not to the hall en masse... it was heaven; and that stupid ring on her finger… what is a thin band of mere gold, even with diamonds, when you feel wings sprouting from beneath your very own shoulder-blades, ready to take off and surge into the sky? He smiled back at her, fascinated, not thinking of the words he spoke. – Congratulations, Mia…

Tick-tock. A second flew by. What… what did he call her?! Lionel dashed to explain himself, to apologize…

- …So sorry, Your Majesty, I wasn't thinking! Didn't mean to be disres… – The Queen put a hand over his lips, smiling along, and the guard grew quiet under her touch.

- Honestly, Lionel, if it's such a big deal with thees and thous... – She laughed kindly, and drew her palm away. – You have my Personal Royal Permission to call me just Mia from now on, O.K?

The impossible happened. Hу felt stunned, deafened, electrocuted – all at once. That, and utterly, madly happy.

…She walked away with her now-fiancé and Charlotte, and Lionel kept standing in the corridor with a goofy smile plastered on his face. A maid trotted by and giggled; the butler asked if he were alright. Lionel gave the man a hearty nod, finally turned on his heel and left for the guards' room. God, yes! He was perfectly alright. Possibly it wasn't realistic or even true, but the young guard suspected that in the whole kingdom of Genovia, no, in Europe – or maybe in the whole wide world, who knows, there wasn't a happier man than him just then, one Lionel Motaz.

Shades noticed that his charge looked a bit funny but said nothing.

- How about a game of chess, huh, Lionel?

Yeah, he was good at chess, but Royal Head of Security somehow always managed to snatch the victory away from him every time they played. Lionel knew he didn't stand a chance, but – he had a secret weapon today and sprinted to take the board and put on the pieces.

- With pleasure, sir!

…It was a stunning game. The kid brilliant as usual, but made his customary mistakes as he played, too. Strange, though, some kind of – dare he say it? – witchcraft was on the youngster's side, and they finished at a draw three hours into the game. For the first time ever! Young Motaz retired till his night shift duty, and the Royal Head of Security stayed at the desk, sipped his coffee and couldn't help wondering, as he watched and re-watched the day's _Royal Security Chronicles_ (millennial season), as the boys called material video-taped with help of hidden cameras. No, Mr. Shades did not believe in witchery; but how?..

Little did he know of the pair of strong wings ten feet long that continued to flap behind the back of his charge Lionel even as the young man slept in his room and smiled in his sleep to reality sweater than dreams…


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **see chapter 1.

**Author's note: **again, some more Latin…

_hinc illae lacrimae_means something along the lines of "that's what the reason of all that happens now is", but literally it means _that's where the tears come from_

**Chapter 4**

**_Hinc illae lacrimae_**

Some forty or so years later…

…Mia sighed as quietly as that treacherous little something down in her throat that threatened to turn into a full-scale wail let her. _God, why…_ She kept on kneeling, one hand crept to the spot on her light summer dress where, Mia knew, was hidden that heart-shaped locket of her father's, but she willed it to stop, laid on the bouquet and the other – touching the letters on golden plaque. _IMMERITUS MORI_. She pulled the hand away, quickly. Everyone in the street doesn't have to get hints for juicy gossip about men she didn't and _did_ sleep with. The woman in elegant summer dress wanted, _craved_ to bawl, to shout! But she simply couldn't, what with a square full of people, right in the center of her capital... Impossible; unspeakable. Instead, Mia whispered what she could. And even that – under her breath, so no-one would hear, or understand even if they catch her words… _I'm sorry._ The statue on its pedestal right above her kept gazing at the crowd with stony unseeing eyes, but to Queen Mother it seemed – glancing every five seconds or so at _her_, having all attention there could possibly be for her, and her alone…

- Are you O.K.?

Michael.

Funny, she almost forgot that he was standing there right next to her in front of this monument, thinking out loud that sculptor (_I'm _telling _you, Mia, he did it on purpose!_) managed to catch hardly any similarity with him. If only you knew, my friend, if only you knew… In truth, it was a life-sized carbon copy of a man, only he did not have a line MICHAEL MOSCOVITZ printed in his driving license and all over other documents that he happened to have. Hardly any similarity? Gosh no, the likeness was so striking that it hurt just to look at the statue, even after years past. Years without _him_. Mia fought a sob. Wait, wasn't she asked about something a moment ago? Got to answer, then – grief is no excuse for a Queen to let go of her good manners. Especially if it is such a beautiful, sunny day in Pyrus, and there's no apparent reason to look torn into pieces. She stood up and tried to smile, searching for a hanky in her handbag as she spoke.

- …Sorry? Oh, I'm perfectly fine. – There, she found it, and touched her eyes with soft cloth just in time to intercept the tears. – Really, Michael.

- You sure? – He sounded suspicious.

Well, her voice definitely _was _a bit raspy and wobbly. Damn…

- Positive. It's just leftovers. – Mia insisted, and felt he'd like her to elaborate, so she added… – I had a nasty cold a few days ago, and it still reminds me about our little rendezvous from time to time.

Just a nasty cold, right. Keep telling yourself that, Mia Thermopolis Renaldi. You know perfectly well that whenever you look at Leonidas or Helen or your grandchildren, you feel it… Joy knit together with _memory_. And the pain. And, honestly, colds have nothing to do with it, beside the fact that both have no cure invented for them – the loss as well as the cold. _Breathe, girl_. Remember, he told you to breathe when you were so scared, that guy who was immortalized in stone more then thirty years ago…_take the air in and then let it out_, so simple indeed…

The graying musician gave her a nod and visibly relaxed, accepting the chill-catching excuse; Mia could see the man's shoulders go sort of limp over the edge of her hanky.

Good.

Note to self: go to hurt all over at the monument _without _anybody next time. She put the handkerchief back where it belonged and started to pull her school-time crush by the arm.

- Come on now, we don't have much time left before my maids find out that the Queen Mother is missing and run for the guards.

He eagerly obliged, and even tried to make a joke or two... and she did her best to pretend laughing. Guards, for crying out loud! Her servants knew better than to disturb Mia unless absolutely necessary when she went to town incognito. As for the guards… She glanced at the statue, briefly. Her guarding, stumbling, but never falling angel was more than enough.

- …So, Queen Mother Amelia Mignonette… – Legendary head of _Flypaper _whizzed through tears of honest, hearty laughter as he paused to take a breath. Funny stories are no joke when you're the one telling them, after all. The former Queen focused on him, encouraging. – Where're you taking me first?

Where? Doesn't matter; Mia felt another sob building up – God, she needed air! Where to go? Anywhere, to get as far away from this place as her aging legs take her, or she'll break down in front of him and a crowd full of tourists and her subjects alike. _You are so strong, Mia. I know you are. _Probably it was only her imagination, but she could swear that the statue, _his _statue winked at her with an eyelid made of stone, quickly, and said just that. Like he used to say before, when he was _alive_, sitting with her just there together incognito, in that street café where she had shared a glass of pear juice with Michael only a minute ago… Or was it half an hour? She is a queen. Queens can smile with what looks like candid sincerity when they feel anything but. _Fake it till you make it._ This she heard from her special man too. His mother's personal favorite. Mia started to smile brightly, thinking that _this_ lady could've made a Queen of Genovia, and a darn good one at it!

- Oh, do you have any preferences, sir?

Michael pretended to be deep in thought.

- How 'bout that Memorial Alley every guide-book is banging about?

Mia wanted to wince. _That _was a place where she went all these years ago, at night, to take out a pinch of what was common dust from her son's desk to everybody else, to the grave of Unknown Soldier of Genovia. One Mr. Shades was covering up for her at the palace, so she could go and return uncaught after ashes of a man who fought and died for her land, anonymous, but not forgotten were finally buried. Ashes. Just ashes. And now she was smiling exactly the same way she did at the National Victory Day ceremony the day after that nightly escapade from her palace. It was a nice day, really, just as warm and sunny as today. Mia professionally turned on the radiant yet honest mask, and it looked like Michael Moscovitz was falling for the act hook and line. Perfect. Now, for the sinker…

- Memorial Alley it is.

He beamed at this, offered her an arm to take, and they hastened away from Pyrus Central Square, a cheerful couple for all who wished to look, joined the crowd, leaving the Square, the statue and everything to go with it behind their backs.

For now, at least.

Mia kept on smiling through her almost-unshed tears.


End file.
